


The New Mystery

by twistedmiracle



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 8th year, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, TM's drabbles, and beyond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-28
Updated: 2018-02-28
Packaged: 2019-03-25 05:20:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13827336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twistedmiracle/pseuds/twistedmiracle
Summary: Why does Harry want to study with Draco? Why does he not care that Ron Weasley doesn't like it? Why has he asked powerful friends to keep an eye on Draco and keep him safe? It's Draco's new mystery.





	The New Mystery

"I couldn't hate you any less than I do now," Draco whispered.

"Is that the best we can do, though?" Potter asked. The sadness clothing his face made Draco's gut tighten miserably.

"I… it's progress," Draco tried, feeling like a failure. Potter had fought for Draco's mother. Had stood up for Draco. Had returned Draco's wand and attended Father's funeral after the murder. Draco was grateful, angry, confused and surprised. Post-war life was a mess and a trial. He never knew what any given day would hold.

Increasingly though, it did seem likely to hold… Potter. How weird was _that_?

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"You could do a bit less for Malfoy already, eh?" 

Draco saw from behind his book, from across the courtyard: Potter winced. 

Weasley's words - or anger - had hit home. Draco knew - it was over. The support, the smiles, _certainly_ the shared revising. 

Potter would always choose Weasley over Draco. That made sense. Anyone could weigh that comparison. Which the friend; which the thorn?

So after dinner, when Potter slid silently into the chair across the round library table, Draco could only look surprised.

"S'what Dumbledore would've wanted," Potter said quietly, and opened a textbook.

Draco accomplished nothing else that evening. 

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"Potter's pet poofter!"

He heard the words just before the trip jinx sent him sprawling, the _Diffindo_ destroying his bag and damaging the cover of one textbook.

"Twenty-five points from Gryffindor!" McGonagall's brusque burr rang out. She stepped around a corner and surveyed the mess. Draco looked up at her from his humiliation and wondered if she'd ever protected him before. Then he wondered what could matter less.

McGonagall had pinned some stupid, angry Gryffindor boy to the wall with sheer glare power. They all listened to her defend Draco as he got off the flagstones and gathered his things.

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"How did you insult him?" she demanded.

Silent, the kid shook his head. "Poofter?" McGonagall sounded enfuriated.

"Those insults are _not_ to be used in this school," she entoned. "No less a man than _Albus Dumbledore_ was homosexual. Not that you should require heroic examples to not denigrate entire groups of humanity." 

She turned. "Are you harmed, Mr Malfoy?" 

Unable to speak, he held up his ruined bag and damaged book.

McGonagall cast, repairing both items.

"And yourself?"

Draco nodded. "I shall be fine," he said quietly.

"Then you may go, Mr Malfoy. Come see me," she added. "Any time."

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That night when Potter slid silently into a chair across the library table, Draco needed to ask. "Was this friendship McGonagall's idea?"

"Huh?" Harry said, but he was blushing bright.

"I don't much like condescension," Draco hissed. "Lying even less."

"M'not lying!" Potter said, angry.

"Then?" Draco insisted.

"Er," Potter said, still blushing, now looking at the floor.

Draco waited.

"McGonagall didn't put me up to anything." Potter finally said. "Instead… I asked _her_ to watch over you."

"Why?" Draco asked; baffled, embarrassed.

"Because Dumbledore wanted to protect you," Potter mumbled unconvincingly. "I gotta go!" He fled, leaving Draco wondering.

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"Miss Granger," Draco said, feeling bizarre and defensive.

"Why, no less than Draco Malfoy," Granger said, attempting an unconvincing sneer. 

Taken aback, Draco looked at her again, and saw things he'd never been willing to notice before. She was pretty. Tired. Wary. And well-armed.

"I…" Draco swallowed, realizing what needed to happen next, before he could cut to the chase. Before he could ask about Harry. "I need to apologize. For years of insults, first of all, and for what happened to you at my house, during the war."

Surprised, Granger looked at him with her own new, thoughtful eyes.

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"What do you want from me, Malfoy?" Granger finally asked, wand still poised.

There were so many ways to answer that question. He wanted her to acknowledge his spontaneous, pain-filled, hard to speak apology. Then he wanted no less than her true, complete forgiveness. He wanted peace between both of them. Then peace between himself and her Weasley. Honestly, he wanted her to allow him to cry at her feet in gratitude for ending the War, even though the mere thought both infuriated and horrified him.

But in the end he only said, "I want… to ask you about Potter."

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"What about Harry?" Granger said, looking uncomfortable. 

Draco could do this. "Has he explained why he's spending time with me?" Draco swallowed, looked down, and tried once more through her silence. "His _real_ reason? All he will tell me is that Dumbledore would have wanted this. I heard him tell Weasley the same last week. Across the courtyard. I was not trying to eavesdrop. But that answer doesn't… feel… 

"Honest?" Granger said in a wry tone.

Draco shuffled uncomfortably. "It feels less than fully honest," he finally agreed. 

Sighing once, Granger awkwardly patted his shoulder. "Ask Harry," she said. "Alone."

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"Please," Draco said quietly. "Back corner? Warded carrel?"

It was late, no one present but 8th years and Pince. Draco'd nearly convinced himself to leave, that Potter wouldn't revise that evening.

Nodding, nervous, Potter followed. 

"Whatever you say," Draco attempted, "this is less about Dumbledore and more about something else. I simply don't know what."

"Truly," Potter said, looking anxious, "no idea at all?"

"Nothing makes sense," Draco said, looking into Potter's eyes. 

"Then maybe this will," Potter said, and took a deep breath before he gently took Draco's face in his hands and slowly stretched up for a kiss.

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Kissing Harry Potter was a desperate revelation. No less than explosions, Quidditch, chocolate. No more than Harry, holding his face, kissing his lips, making him so hard he could die.

Shocked, Draco hesitated, then grabbed Harry's hips and held on as though gravity had ceased and nothing less than a death grip would keep them from floating off, away from one another.

Losing hold of earth seemed like nothing, suddenly, as long as this kiss did not end.

"Fuck," Draco whined as Harry tested Draco's ear with his teeth.

"Yes?" Harry teased.

"Yes," Draco sighed, surrendering to the new mystery.

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It was enough to receive a discreet kiss when Harry dropped him off at a class they did not share.

It was enough to see his honour at least _somewhat_ restored in the eyes of his mother, McGonagall and several professors.

It was enough to know Harry trusted Draco to rest safely in the scarlet bed while Harry showered and Draco stole more sleep.

Nonetheless, the luxury of a night in Muggle London: dinner at a fabulous French restaurant, a bottle of Draco's favourite champagne, a show in the West End, a luxurious, deferential hotel….

Being pampered was lovely, too.

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Now that the whole school knew Draco really _was_ "Potter's pet poofter," Draco usually felt safer than ever. McGonagall, Potter, Granger and both Weasleys all clarified: Draco was off limits to all bullies, abusers and thieves. 

But there were times, such as when he found himself alone in Slytherin, or down a dark corridor, that Draco missed the relaxing luxury of their protection. 

It was enough to make him wonder if he was dating Harry more for romance, or security. 

It was this he pondered one Saturday afternoon as he nervously headed back to the library to meet Harry. Shortcut? 

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He'd avoided his clothing trunk too long: cleansing magically, letting his beloved wardrobe moulder. 

He hated being cowardly. This was his school! But the bad memories lingered well enough, and the safety of Harry's love emulated the best cocoon. Perhaps he _was_ being spineless, and yet…. 

He told himself if he harmed another student, even in self defense or retaliation for injury, not even McGonagall could protect him from the backlash.

But his pride did not allow him to hide in Harry's shadow at every moment. Thus the Hufflepuffs found him alone that day, freshly clad in his handsome best.

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He woke in the hospital wing. Everything hurt. Harry drowsed nearby. The windows were streaked pale coral with rising dawn. 

"Harry?" he croaked, voice surprisingly raw.

"You're finally awake!" Harry said, sounding miserable. 

"Was I out long?" Draco asked nervously.

"Long enough to scare the shit out of me," Harry said tersely. "Madame Pomfrey?" 

"He's awake?" Pomfrey called. Draco heard her bustling over.

"Yes, ma'am," Harry said, but Pomfrey was already casting diagnostics.

"The Headmistress will arrive shortly," Pomfrey said. "Will you be able to tell us who did this to you?"

"Hufflepuffs?" Draco said, confused.

"Oh dear," said Pomfrey.

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"Mr Malfoy," McGonagall said quietly. "I need you to remember who did this. You were unconscious for seventeen hours. You were grievously harmed."

Draco looked up from his pillow at the headmistress. He saw the fury and worry she was trying to hide. 

"I wish I could," he rasped, simultaneously wishing he could while grateful that he couldn't. 

"Legilimency is too invasive right now," McGonagall said sourly, looking toward the mediwitch. "Can you search your memories again?"

Harry put his wand to his own temple. "Or could I help you put it in a Pensieve?"

"That's enough," snapped Madame Pomfrey. 

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Draco slept fitfully, waking to see Mother, knitting lace.

"Draco," she murmured, taking his hand. "They caught those who harmed you. They were overheard bragging." Her pain-filled face was enough to make Draco want to cry. He'd failed Mother.

"I'm so sorry, Mother," he said, noticing his voice had healed.

"For what, dear son?" Narcissa asked. Her confusion looked genuine.

"For… relying on Harry to keep me safe," he confessed, needing the release of honesty. "For being cowardly. For being stupid enough to get caught alone. For being ill-prepared enough to allow others to get the better of me."

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Her eyes filled with tears; her hands gripped his too tightly. "Don't think those things," she pleaded. "The world is not as your father taught. You go ahead. Rely on Harry. It makes him happy, and it works. He's a sweet boy, Draco. We sat together for two hours, and he did more than enough to show me how deeply and honestly he cares for you. He and the headmistress are working hard to make this school a better, safer place for everyone here. Including you. We can trust them, darling, and we should. We're lucky to have the chance."

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"Mother?" Draco said, astonished. 

"Yes, Draco." She said, sadly. "All true. It breaks my heart you're not safe, even here, but _we_ aren't truly safe anywhere. All must now fix what Lucius nearly destroyed. 

"You've my blessing to do your best, standing next to Potter. No boyfriend could keep you safer than he. No boyfriend could be a greater symbol of reconciliation, renewal, and repair than you. Most of all though, for me it is enough to see you happy."

"Stay safe, my only son." She stood to leave. "Let Harry keep you safe."

Draco considered her words all evening.

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After finally being released from Madame Pomfrey's care, Draco felt distressingly fragile. He'd been attacked by _peers_. At Hogwarts: safest place in magical Britain. The results had left him bed-ridden for nearly a week and had resulted in an expulsion and two suspensions. 

Luckily, Harry and his bizarre friends never did anything to make it worse. 

Well, no. that wasn't true at all. They tried hard not to make it worse, but they were sweet, deferential and solicitous, and their humour was often so… terrible. 

Every night Draco dropped, rock-like, into Harry's bed. Sex was almost never an option anymore. 

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After the vaguely horrifying conversation he'd had with Mother about Harry's qualities as a boyfriend, and how profoundly Lucius had been wrong; here too Draco felt distressingly fragile.

Each night, after revising, he would try to write his mother a letter. He usually managed something loving and pleasant enough to owl, but never seemed to approach the questions he couldn't quite manage to form in his mind. 

Eventually he realized getting them on paper was going to be impossible for far too long, and stopped trying. Hopefully, the words would come if he let go of working to craft them.

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The whole school switched: suddenly Draco was crystalline and fragile. He sniffed to Harry, "If I became a porcelain doll they wouldn't treat me much differently."

After the expulsion, the suspensions, Harry's "Quibbler" article, and the return of daily owled sweets (shared widely round the Great Hall, at Mother's suggestion), he'd abruptly switched from some sort of feared pariah to a ridiculous, pampered stand-in. Harry hated effusions of gratitude? People could defer to Draco, instead.

He'd have cared far more if it didn't make him feel safe again.

Safe, and like he'd won the maddest Grand Prize Draw in history.

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On those rare nights when he felt able to acquiesce to Harry's ever present but rarely voiced need for his body, Draco understood the positive half of fragility. 

He always felt almost spiritually safe next to Harry. No other eighteen year old boy, he felt sure, could possibly be so patient about going from thrice-daily sex, to thrice-monthly sex. 

Somewhere in his mind, Draco still longed for raucous, violent fucking. He wanted teeth and bruises; blood and lube. Silencing charms that strained and cracked.

He wanted morning to bring winces, smug laughter, shared looks.

But he just… couldn't. Not anymore. 

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So when he would shiver into Harry's embrace on a needy night, whispering "perhaps gently…" Harry would prepare Draco with a delicacy that still overwhelmed. 

He would ignore the clock, layer privacy charms, and lick, suck and kiss Draco into a submission so deep that when Harry's cock finally breached his newly fragile sense of bodily integrity, Draco would weep with the pleasure of it.

Perhaps it was better they made love infrequently now. Draco didn't think either of them could really handle the time commitment or the intimacy more often.

It might be an excuse, but it was all he had.

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Somehow time sped away. N.E.W.T.s were nearly upon them. Seventh and eighth years spent all their free time revising. No one squabbled over anything except access to books anymore. He and Harry began to simply purchase anything in short supply, and Draco felt himself completing a mastery of years worth of material. His education and mind were both sound, and Granger was an excellent study partner. 

Facing his N.E.W.T.s made Draco feel capable. He relished it.

It was facing the world outside of Hogwarts, with or without his newly beloved Harry, that made Draco feel ready to shatter and crash.

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"I never really thought about… after." Draco sat on the edge of their new bed.

Wisely, Harry waited. Draco tried to sort his thoughts.

"I've been so intent on N.E.W.T.s all this time," he tried slowly, working his way through the jumbled ideas and emotions that choked him. "That the _point_ of taking them had completely escaped me."

He stared out the window for a long time. Eventually, Harry sat too, still silent. He took Draco's hand in his own.

The grounds of Malfoy Manor stretched out for as far as they could see.

Harry waited. They had all day.

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Eventually Narcissa called. "Please join me for the evening meal," her voice chimed from her wing-spread gannet _Patronus_. 

Harry had feared this, but the table was small, round, tucked into a book filled room that had never once entered his nightmares. He breathed his relief too obviously, and Narcissa patted his hand once.

"You do me such great kindness by moving in with me, dear boys. I've been quite alone since…. Well. Let's not ruin dinner with sad thoughts. I'm so very glad you are here. Marsty?"

The sweet-faced house elf served the meal in a polite, smiling silence. 

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"Harry and I've been talking for hours," Draco began suddenly. "It's a shock. Done with Hogwarts!"

"I understand," Narcissa added solemnly. "I felt similarly when I completed my N.E.W.T.s, packed and left. Like I'd stepped off a cliff. No responsibilities, no plans, nothing holding me. I could become anyone. It was at once exhilarating and terrifying."

"Your parents?" Harry attempted to inquire, wondering how to politely complete the sentence.

"They didn't understand," Narcissa said, quiet. "They chose Lucius. Eventually I acquiesced."

She looked into Draco's eyes. "I'd never do that to you. But that means you have to decide _yourself_."

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"Well," Harry said with determination. "I don't know what I want to do, either."

The other two looked at him, Narcissa with curiosity, Draco with surprise. 

"But," Draco said, "we talked about this. You want to be an Auror. I watched you apply for the program."

"That was before," Harry said, staring at his dinner plate. Being Hermione's friend, he expected a probing "Before what?" But neither Malfoy said anything. Narcissa picked up the mustard sauce and dabbed a bit more onto her fish.

"I never…" he paused. They were listening so well, he should say this just as well.

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He thought carefully. "I wanted to be an Auror when my whole life was about fighting dark wizards. Continuing that fight was all I could imagine. It was important and I was good at it."

He took a bite of fish. It was bland; he added mustard sauce. 

"All this year, I tried never to worry about what came next. I wanted to enjoy what I had, _when_ I had. It felt like such a blessing to have a year of school without Voldemort after me. To just be a student." 

He looked into Draco's eyes. "Then you were attacked."

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"That must _never_ happen again. But Aurors are vulnerable. Their partners, too, when the criminals are unusually vicious. While you were unconscious, I wrote the Head Auror. When I read his reply, I pulled my application."

Draco stared. Narcissa listened.

"He agreed. With my history, I couldn't much chase bad guys. I get the idea they hadn't thought about it very much before my letter."

Harry sighed. 

"It's good I don't _want_ to track down Dark Magic criminals, because apparently they wouldn't let me do it if I applied. I'd just be a figurehead." 

He shuddered. 

Draco took his hand.

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"It is more than fine if neither of you has firm career plans," Narcissa told them, looking first Draco, then Harry in the eye. "There are many fields to consider. Many projects to try your hand at. Architecture, education, finance, Charms creation, law… Quidditch, even."

"Never," Harry said, nearly looking ill.

"No?" Draco said, clearly surprised.

"I've had far too much of fame." Harry said miserably. "Can you imagine our lives if I even tried out for professional Quidditch? Fans, groupies, photographs…."

"Rita Skeeter!" Draco agreed, and Harry glared at him fiercely before all three of them burst into laughter.

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They walked in the Malfoy's garden. "We should visit the Weasleys sometime. They miss you."

"That's great of you, Draco. I've been wanting to suggest it, but…."

"I hope I wasn't stopping you?" Draco said, his gut twisting preemptively. He'd come to really value Hermione, and Ron, surprisingly, had defended Draco vehemently after he'd recovered.

"Not you," Harry said, tugging Draco's hand. They sat on the grass.

"I was stopping myself. I think Molly and Arthur finally accept that I'm gay and won't be dating Ginny again."

"It has to help that Ginny's started dating Mill?"

"Heh," Harry laughed. "Perhaps."

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"They probably won't pressure me to give you up for Ginny, but I fear they'd push.…"

"Aurors?"

"Sometimes I know they'd never…." Harry pulled a blade of grass. He fitted it between his thumbs and blew a strange bellow. Draco cringed and tickled him to make him stop. 

"But you can't let that be an excuse to give them up, Harry!" Draco said from his prone position on the grass. A large tree shaded them and he did not have to squint.

"Family's important," Draco said in his most serious voice. "Stiff upper lip, Harry, we're owling them this afternoon."

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Molly arrived in a prissy lace dress and a nearly matching hat. She looked itchy. 

Harry felt guilty.

Narcissa answered the door, welcoming Arthur, Molly, Ron and Hermione with a surprising warmth. Harry had thought he'd become accustomed to Narcissa.

"Welcome," she said with a genuine smile, apparently not caring how it wrinkled the skin around her eyes.

Molly took Narcissa's hand in her own. She looked the other mother in the eye for a long heartbeat before shaking hands bouncily, apparently satisfied. "And sometimes you must come have Sunday dinner with all of us," she announced with a sniffle.

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"Thanks," Harry said that night, dressed for bed and holding Draco close.

"I helped?" Draco asked, still uncertain. The Weasleys said they enjoyed luncheon and Mother was pleased; but it was Harry's opinion that mattered.

"Very much," Harry said simply. 

Ron, Arthur and Molly had been calm about Harry and Draco's career uncertainties. Molly and Narcissa had even dampened Hermione's anxiety. 

"Sometimes Hermione…" Harry paused. "No need to focus there," he started again. "Lunch was great. Thanks for pushing me." He kissed Draco's cheek and turned off the light.

"Could you thank me…" Draco said shyly, "with more than words?"

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Harry eyes went large, then soft. Instead of speaking his answer, he turned into Draco's embrace and kissed blond hair. His hands found Draco's lower back and their mouths joined in a sweet kiss that soon became heated.

Soon completely erect, Draco shoved Harry over, climbing on top of him and rubbing their bodies together enticingly.

"Mmm, so hard. Would you like to be inside me?" Draco asked coyly, squirming away slightly as Harry tried to remove Draco's pyjama bottoms.

"Sometimes," Harry panted, grabbing Draco's still-clad arse in both hands, "I think you might just be the death of me."

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It took long enough that Harry had to breathe to get through, but eventually they were naked in the enormous bed. 

"Prepare me?" Draco asked, need obvious on his face.

In answer, Harry took the little pot of lube from the bedside table. Soon Draco's balls were in his mouth and one finger was working magic in Draco's squirming body. 

"Sometimes I miss this so much," Draco babbled to his pillow as Harry turned him into mush. "I wish I weren't so damn scared of it the rest of the time."

"S'ok," Harry murmured. "I'll want you whenever you can."

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"It's been a long time since we've visited friends," Harry said quietly one morning as he and Draco took their customary brisk morning walk around the manor's grounds. The July air wasn't yet too oppressive, so early in the morning. 

"Mm," Draco agreed noncommittally.

Harry squeezed his hand gently, but said nothing else.

\- - - - - - - - - - - -

"August is almost over," Harry said one evening after dinner. "Perhaps we should leave the grounds? Visit with friends?"

"Mm," Draco said.

Refusing to frown, Harry turned another page in his novel.

*- * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * -*

"It's a beautiful Fall," Harry said as they gazed together at the riotously coloured trees. "Strange to think I've been living here more than four months."

"Yes," Draco agreed. "I've been thinking about, er…" he stopped speaking and flushed a bright pink.

Harry waited.

"Inviting Hermione and Ron to… share the leaves with us."

"Should I invite them to dinner?" Harry asked cautiously.

"I was actually thinking we could meet them somewhere," Draco said. "Somewhere with a back room. Somewhere very, very out of the way. Fully magical, too. No Muggles at all."

"The Hog's Head?" Harry suggested.

Draco smiled.

*- * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * -*

Harry owled Dumbledore to book his back room for Friday evening. He owled Ron and Hermione an invitation. He asked Narcissa to join them and graciously (he fervently hoped) accepted her refusal to "intrude."

Then he watched Draco try hard not to fall apart over the menu, his outfit, Harry's outfit, and finally their travel method.

"I have no idea why you put up with my crap," Draco cried into Harry's shoulder three hours before they were due to Floo directly into the pub's front room.

"Because I love you," Harry said soothingly, patting his miserable boyfriend's back. "So much."

*- * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * -*

The Hog's Head was an admittedly odd venue for a dinner party: dingy, remote, infrequently patronized. Nonetheless, it fit Draco's needs.

Primarily as it _hummed_ with magic. 

Aberforth Dumbledore was the sort to never chose a hammer over a wand. His wards were certainly adequate, but that only accounted for about half the extra magic thrumming under Draco's skin right now. Magic controlled the cooking, cleaning, lighting. 

In a way, it was like he hadn't left the safety and isolation of his Manor. 

"We're so glad you could come!" he said joyously, shutting the door firmly behind Ron and Hermione.

*- * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * -*

If Harry had expected that small adventure to lead quickly to more, he was gracious enough not to tell Draco. The Hog's Head seemed a success, but it wasn't until a full week had passed that Draco spoke of another outing.

When Harry woke early Sunday afternoon, Draco was sitting in the windowsill. "An owl came," he murmured. 

Harry waited, patiently, sleepily, saying nothing.

"The Weasleys. They would like us to come for Sunday dinner. All three of us." He turned toward Harry, who nodded once and carefully withheld a smile.

"I've said yes," Draco said, and Harry grinned enormously.

*- * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * -*

They Flooed at four. Narcissa, then Draco, then Harry. When Draco stepped in, his mother gracefully took his hand, to imply she'd missed him. Actually, though she'd only been away for twenty seconds, they'd been in different parts of the country, and so _he_ had missed _her_. 

Draco held his mother's hand gratefully and looked toward the fireplace, which soon spat out a sooty boyfriend for him to grin at. 

"Welcome!" Arthur Weasley boomed, and suddenly everyone was hugging them. 

Even Mill was there, holding Ginny's hand. Draco was surprised at how pleased he was to see her familiar face.

*- * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * -*

They stayed until the sun was nearly set. "It's getting late!" Draco exclaimed with surprise, and everyone began to make their goodbyes. 

Mrs. Weasley insisted they take some pie, and Narcissa finally agreed, Flooing home with it carefully wrapped in a leak-proof basket.

When they finally got home, Harry and Draco excused themselves to retire quite early. Soon they lay entwined in their enormous bed, freshly bathed, Draco in silk, Harry in cotton boxers.

"I suppose this is my new level of adventure," Draco said, clearly feeling Harry out.

"Works for me," Harry said mildly. "I had a wonderful day."

*- * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * -*

Draco woke alone Monday morning. "Harry?" he asked sleepily, but no one answered, and the shower stayed silent. Confused, Draco slowly made his way to the breakfast table, where Marsty served him tea and the last slice of Molly Weasley's leftover chicken pie.

His mother was finishing her correspondence. 

She sipped tea as her ink dried slowly in the sun. Lucius had used spells, but mother preferred her ink to dry naturally. She said it gave her a chance to read it over again once before she owled.

"Harry's flying," she said briefly. "Said he needed to achieve something today."

*- * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * -*

Harry landed, winded, flushed, smiling; as Draco walked toward the broadest stretch of open lawn to find him. Grinning, laughing, he grabbed Draco around the waist and twirled them around in a clumsy circle. Draco began to laugh, Harry began to laugh, and together they lay on the grass, smiling like fools.

"Good fly then?" Draco asked, brushing the messy curls from Harry's eyes.

"Yup," Harry said simply, then lay down again, looking up into the sky, one hand shading his eyes.

Pausing, Draco watched his handsome boyfriend think. Harry was incredibly patient with him, every day. He could wait.

*- * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * -*

"It's time I achieved something," Harry finally said.

Terrified of what this might mean for their relationship, their cocoon of Manored safety, their precious isolation, Draco carefully swallowed instead of bleeding anxiety over the grass. Harry didn't continue, so he tried for casual. "Oh?"

"Auror's out. Quidditch too. Anything that involves always being in public is out." He turned to Draco and smiled. "But I still love to fly. And today, I finally thought of something I want to learn."

Harry took Draco's hand and cracked an enormous smile. "I'm going to try making brooms," he said.

Smiling, Draco breathed.

*- * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * -*

That very afternoon Harry owled for a stack of books. When they arrived, he seemingly _buried_ himself within them. 

Sipping a small glass of his late father's best Firewhiskey, Draco sat in the library nearby. He held a well-loved novel in his lap but it couldn't hold his attention. Harry was physically in the library, yes. But his mind was a thousand miles away, crafting custom brooms.

Trying not to be a pill, Draco snuck out silently, looking for his mother.

Mother was knitting lace.

"That's lovely," he said, wondering if he too should be making something with his hands.

*- * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * -*

Mother gazed at him benignly, but there was a canny spark in her eyes and Draco braced himself. Wisely so.

"Harry's ignoring you, isn't he?" mother asked bluntly as her tiny needles flashed. Her hands and handwork were wrapped in the special _Lumos_ he always saw her use for delicate work, but she let it dim as she turned her attention to Draco.

"Yes mother," he said quietly. "I made sure not to take any frustration out on Harry. It isn't his fault I've become overly dependent."

Mother nodded her approval, so Draco sipped his Firewhiskey, wondering what to say.

*- * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * -*

"You are in a spot," Mother said, her needles flashing in her balled _Lumos_ , once again bright. "Can't get traditional employment; getting bored."

Sipping, Draco listened.

"We do still own some stocks and securities that you could manage, but that's not real work. Once you learn the details it will take only a few hours a month. But once upon a time, Malfoys owned factories. We even made brooms."

"I couldn't intrude on Harry's new… trajectory," Draco demurred. 

Mother didn't intercede. He paused. 

"But… a factory… is there any chance we — I — have enough liquid capital to purchase a factory?"

*- * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * -*

Mother didn't answer. So Draco considered what this might mean. Could a Malfoy find loyal, honest employees? Would wizards buy Malfoy products? Would he need to fully understand the product's manufacture, or would an employee do that? Could he really trust a foreman to run everything? Perhaps he would hire an expert and then become an expert. But, on what?

Distracted by his thoughts, he abandoned his now empty glass and walked to the window. The sun was starting to set. 

"Likely," Mother reassured quietly. "It would depend on the factory. Some would require… enticement."

"No bribery." Draco said sharply. 

*- * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * -*

"The more essential the product, the harder it would be for a young man in your position to acquire the factory, I would think," his mother continued. "Odd as it might seem, I suggest you focus on something frivolous: a small vice."

"Alcohol," Draco said suddenly. "I should acquire a… Firewhiskey factory."

"Perhaps," his mother agreed mildly.

"Perhaps I should," Draco said, distracted, and grabbing his empty glass, he started suddenly for the door.

"Thank you for the most intriguing idea, Mother," he said stepping back inside a moment after he left. "I need to research in father's liquor cabinet."

*- * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * -*

Harry was too busy to notice, but Draco now immersed himself in research. He discerned Father's favourites, via the liquor cabinet and the house elf's recollections. He ordered trade journals: taking notes, making increasingly detailed calculations. He mapped all current British distilleries. He owled polite letters to his parents' friends and acquaintances, obliquely asking what alcohols they preferred to give and receive as gifts.

Occasionally he would watch Harry wistfully through the window: sanding long strips of wood in the East Garden.

"We'll converse over dinner," Draco decided, forgetting they'd both forgone dinner (twice!) in favor of work and sandwiches. 

*- * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * -*

On the third afternoon, Draco was surprised to notice Mother standing silently, waiting. 

"You've chosen your great-great-Grandfather's desk." She stroked the walnut. "I approve."

"Thank you, won't you sit?" Draco said, feeling eager to regale her with everything he had learned. 

As she arranged her robes in a nearby chair, Draco spread out the trade journals and began to explain his new plan.

"Almost all wizarding spirits are distilled in mixed factories, if you can imagine," he began. "Wizards don't buy enough to support all the infrastructure. The most common Wizard spirit is Firewhiskey, but after that it's Muggle Scotch!"

*- * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * -*

Draco explained everything carefully; fearing Mother's boredom, but it never came. She asked incisive questions, agreed with most of his conclusions, and found two small errors in his thinking.

"I agree," she finally said once he'd finished. "I shall support you completely. As a matter of truth, I think it all quite marvelous!" She smiled widely, and Draco felt a weight lifting.

"Do you think Harry will approve?" Draco said nervously. "I expect I shall need his help with much of this."

"You must ask him yourself," his mother said. "It's been far too long since you've had a conversation!"

*- * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * -*

Twice, one had finally crawled to bed only to discover the other: long asleep. Twice, both had skipped dinner in favor of a cold sandwich eaten alone. Twice, Narcissa had spent the day with little company but Marsty and lace.

But now Draco had a plan for his future, and it was time to get Harry's opinion.

Draco found his beloved in the garden. Harry was ignoring his half-eaten lunch in order to test a half-crafted broom. Draco gathered (from the enormous mattress on the grass) that already he'd fallen (or got thrown) several times.

"Draco!" Harry yelled joyfully. "You're outside!"

*- * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * -*

"Out and about," Draco agreed, feeling silly, yet eager to monopolize Harry's attention. "Can we talk?"

"Sure!" Harry attempted to dismount. The broom apparently disagreed, upending Harry face first into the mattress, one foot hooked on the broom and the other crumpled under Harry's torso.

"Ow," Harry said quietly, as Draco ran over, _not_ laughing.

"Not done?" Draco asked when Harry was untangled. They lay on the mattress, watching the recalcitrant broom trying to edge away.

Harry sighed. "Nope," he agreed. "Getting there." Harry ran his fingers through Draco's hair. "What've you been up to?" 

Draco took a deep breath.

*- * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * -*

"So that's what I'm thinking," Draco concluded. They lay on Harry's conjured mattress. The half-done broom had snuck off to hide under a spiny bush. They held hands, but Draco was too nervous to look Harry in the eye. 

"It's very smart," Harry said quickly, then paused. "You could be right about the hate. Have you a plan?"

"No," agreed Draco reluctantly. He had capital, a factory to bid on, his mother's support and Harry's. But he didn't know what he could or should do, if the wizarding world decided to lose its collective mind over his newly chosen profession. 

*- * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * -*

The little family curated a plan. First, they alerted the Aurors and Kingsley Shacklebolt of their plans to travel to the Quiraing Distillery of Skye, whose owner was 182 years of age and without obvious heirs. Draco then owled her, offering to buy. 

With an appointment, they flooed into Gringotts and withdrew 18,000 galleons in the largest possible denominations (Harry'd never before seen a 782 galleon coin): approximately half the money Draco thought - after much research - to be a fair price for a well run but tiny operation hidden well away in the beautiful Scottish Highlands.

Things were coming together.

*- * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * -*

Thistle Usquebagh wrote back swiftly, expressing a quavery reluctance to sell her life's work to "A young man such as yourself." Nonetheless, she offered to show them round "Tuesday next." 

They Flooed into Usquebagh's office. Draco found her surprisingly tall and spry for 182, standing straight, no cane. Calmly looking Narcissa in the eye. "Distiller Usquebagh;" he shook her proffered hand.

Despite forewarning, Usquebagh seemed surprised by Harry. She was deferential, then dismissive, then eventually simply pleased. By the time they'd seen the entire facility, Harry and Narcissa seemed to have charmed her socks off. Only one of them intentionally. 

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Yet in the end, it was Draco that closed the sale. Once she'd shown them everything, explaining her improvements, innovations, her quality controls; she sat Draco down and grilled him mercilessly. How had he learned of her? Why her factory? What did he know of Firewhiskey? Of Scotch? Most importantly, what of hers would he change? 

Draco spoke eloquently and efficiently, his intense nervousness completely hidden to Usquebagh, who relaxed visibly under his newly-earned expertise. He found himself, to his surprise, having a fascinating and enlightening conversation on multiple aspects of the business and factory he was attempting to adopt. 

*- * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * -*

They were dissecting Usquebagh's intricate opinions on the types of fires used to age Firewhiskey (Peat? Magical?) when she stopped the conversation. "You're no fool, young Malfoy," she said, standing. "And for sure you're not some sort of cartoonish Death Eater scum or even a spoiled, rich man-child with nothing to lose. I can tell you care about real quality. I can see that you are serious. And at my age, I am tired of running this place. You can have my factory - hell, even my assistance when you want it - for 40,000 galleons. Call your lawyers. Are we agreed?"

*- * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * -*

This was 4000 more than Draco had intended to spend, but he stood slowly, pretending to pull his robes from the seam of her comfortable chair. Without looking at his mother or boyfriend he swiftly tallied plusses and minuses. It was a fine distillery. She was an incredible resource. He needed her loyalty. It was only 4000. 

"Sold, Distiller Usquebagh!" he said enthusiastically, and they shook hands over her desk. Soon to be _his_ desk, he realized.

He knew how much he'd changed when, hours later, he realized he'd not once thought about changing the furniture in his new office. 

*- * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * -*

Draco found an "FYI" on his new desk early the next afternoon. He, Usquebagh, and their many legal counselors had spent the morning at Gringotts, laboriously going over and signing contracts, deeds, and similar parchments. 

But now Draco was the proud owner of Quiraing Distillery of Skye. 

Sitting in the sunlight that streamed through the large window, Draco carefully read through Thistle's terse but informative notes.

He'd researched well. Learned much. But there was still a good bit to learn.

Standing and smoothing his plain, dark, hideously expensive robes, Draco swallowed a lump. It was time to meet… _his_ foreman.

*- * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * -*

Slowly, Draco moved through his new factory, observing everything. He wondered how he should react, should he come across an employee who was _not_ the foreman. Shake a hand? Nod brusquely? But the place was quite quiet, and the first person he came across was Donan: looking just like his photo. The man strode toward Draco, hand outstretched. 

"Foreman Donan," Draco said, shaking his foreman's hand. "Distiller Usquebagh says you're an invaluable asset. I look forward to hearing your thoughts on the factory."

"Now there's a man born to lead," Donan said with deference.

"Thank you, foreman," Draco said, humbled.

*- * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * -*

They walked through the factory as work shut down for the night. Draco apparently now employed witches, wizards and House Elves, but not many. 

"That's most of them," Donan said as Draco nodded goodbye to Withers and Gampsin. "You can meet the last three tomorrow, but you'll get here early to do it. The early shift arrives at four in the morning and leaves at eight. Two are married Mums. They earn extra income for their families by working here before sending their littles off to school, and the third is a student, working his way through a long-distance apprenticeship."

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With Donan along, it was easy to formally introduce himself, shake everyone's hand, learn every employee's name. Even both of the House Elves: Drinky and Drunky. 

Draco had managed to say their names solemnly, without a single snigger. It had been close, though.

They'd arrived back at Draco's office, the whole factory locked down now except for the main Floo, which they could both control remotely. 

"Is it true," Donan said, not quite meeting Draco's eye, "that you're dating _**The**_ Harry Potter?" He took off his hat, twisting it in his hands. "I'm sure everyone would like to meet him."

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Draco'd taken time adjusting. Since the attack, he'd been cautious; didn't much leave home. 

He and Harry had settled into the Manor with mother: a wonderful person to live with. Harry said so frequently. 

But Draco wanted to spread his wings. He wanted to return to the brave, brash boy he had been - while continuing to become the wonderful man his mother already thought he was. So he'd taken a risk. He'd chosen a profession and bought himself a Scotch and Firewhiskey distillery.

He'd been running his factory nearly a week. And so far, his new life seemed almost perfect.

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When the Prophet learned of Draco's venture he made the front page: terrible insinuations. Howlers came. Aurors came. Charges were filed: poison whiskey. Mind control. Terrorism.

"You also accuse me," said foreman Donan. "And me," said Belinda from the early shift. "Me," said Withers from the late shift. "And us," said Drinky and Drunky. They arrayed themselves behind him and swore on the distillery's honor. They insisted their work be respected. They said Draco was why.

The Ministry slunk away in the face of it. No proof. All lies. 

Draco raised everyone's pay, then collapsed into bed for twelve hours.

*- * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * -*

"I've heard any publicity is good publicity, but this is… overwhelming."

"Mr Malfoy, I've asked the staff to work double shifts. Everyone can, within reason."

"Draco, I'm done with this broom. Share dinner with me tonight?"

"Sir, will you authorize doubling this order?"

"Son, I've hardly seen you all month. Hard work is a virtue, but spend time with Harry before he starts to resent you."

"Mr Malfoy, let's discuss adding temporary workers."

"Harry, I want to spend more time with you, too, but since the Ministry backed off and the Prophet admitted my Firewhiskey is perfect, sales have exploded!"

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"Hired!" They all shook hands, then Foreman Donan showed Afzaal out. Six new employees to train!

First, the increase in Firewhiskey orders seemed temporary. It couldn't last? But strained staff make errors. Donan pushed Draco to hire. Big.

Draco dragged his heels for three weeks, but when orders stayed consistently high, he agreed: it was time for a risk.

Donan took charge. He'd advertised, screened resumes, scheduled interviews. Draco watched: discussing his logic, learning his techniques. They agreed easily on all hires. Now they just needed to teach them everything. _After_ the weekend.

Finally, Draco could go home to Harry.

* - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * -

"Harry?"

"You're home before nine!"

"Oh, love," Draco's shoulders drooped. 

But Harry rushed over, swung him in a big circle. "No guilt! Try this broom!"

"I want to! And you must taste my latest Scotch! It will improve with age, but…."

"Understood, you can't wait to share!"

"I finished hiring today. We train Monday. I think… we've got our new normal."

"Good?"

"Oh Harry, it's so good." He grinned, put both hands on Harry's arse.

"That good?" Harry laughed.

Draco kissed him deeply. Caught his eye. Seeing lust there, he _Apparated_ them directly to bed.

Finally, all was well again.

* - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * -

 

The end!


End file.
